"I don't know," replied von Arnheim. "That rests with my superior, whom
you shall soon see."
They were walking along the gravel toward a heavy bronze door, that told
little of what the house contained. Officers and soldiers saluted the
young prince as he passed. John saw discipline and attention everywhere.
The German note was discipline and obedience, obedience and discipline.
A nation, with wonderful powers of thinking, it was a nation that ceased
to think when the call of the drill sergeant came. Discipline and
obedience had made it terrible and unparalleled in war, to a certain
point, but beyond that point the nations that did think in spite of
their sergeants, could summon up reserves of strength and courage which
the powers of the trained militarists could not create. At least John
thought so.
The long windows of the house threw back the last rays of the setting
sun, and it was twilight when von Arnheim and his four captives entered
the chateau. A large man, middle-aged, heavy and bearded, wearing the
uniform of a German general rose, and a staff of several officers rose
with him. It was Auersperg, the medieval prince, and John's heart was
troubled.
Von Arnheim saluted, bowing deeply. He stood not only in the presence of
his general, but of royalty also. It was something in the German blood,
even in one so brave and of such high rank as von Arnheim himself, that
compelled humility, and John, like the fierce democrat he was, did not
like it at all.
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